


Stasis

by mad_marquise



Category: Seven Psychopaths (2012)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Drabbles, Fluff, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-05 17:16:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1826029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mad_marquise/pseuds/mad_marquise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As normal and quaint as a relationship can be when the two parties are a sot and a psychopath. Billy/Marty drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Marty Finds Catharsis

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【翻译】Stasis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11628537) by [liangdeyu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liangdeyu/pseuds/liangdeyu)



> Finally saw Seven Psychopaths for the first time a few days ago, fell in love with it, now here's some fic, because this fandom desperately needs more.

It wasn’t any different from any of their numerous camping trips. It was just less desert and canvas and more drywall and quilt. And it was his – Billy’s – _their_ house, anyways.

He was a grown man, damn it. He could do as he damn well plea-

“Oof!” A pillow to the face cut Marty off.

 He looked at his assailant, Billy, who simply replied, “You were thinking too much.”

Marty tilted his head a bit and stared at him for a moment. Then he reached on the floor, wrapped himself in a blanket, then grinned sharply and pounced, tackling a cackling Billy.

Pillow forts were surprisingly cathartic.


	2. In Which Marty's With Him To The End

So someway, somehow, they got Billy to a hospital.

Fat load of good it did. Doc said he had minutes.

Bedside, with Billy’s hand in a death grip, Marty was blinking back tears as he cursed, “You fucking idiot, Billy. You complete, fucking idiot.”

“Hey,” Billy rasped out, grinning that stupid fucking grin of his. That stupid, fucking beautiful grin. “That any way to thank the guy who just finished your movie for you?”

Marty shook his head. “At the cost of your own life?” He said softly, incredulously, his voice wavering.

Billy nodded slowly with his last bit of strength. He closed his eyes. “I said that this movie ends my way,” he breathed contentedly.

                                                                                                 

 


	3. In Which Billy Gives a Little Reminder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aka, in which billy is the king of cheese. what a doofus.

They're at Billy's place, in Billy's room, in Billy's bed, because Billy had deemed the afternoon the Orgasm Olympics.

Sweaty and spent, Billy takes in a long, deep breath, then on the exhale, says, "I knew you were better off without that cunt."

Marty, lying beside him and equally as spent cringes a little; he lazily swipes at his companion. "Don't call her that." His 'hit' barely grazes Billy before his hand falls back down into the bed. Marty is utterly boneless.

_Score!_  thinks Billy, mentally fist-pumping.  _He is total goo. He's silly putty._

_He's so mine._

Scooting closer to Marty, Billy says, very matter-of-factly, "She's a fucking cunt and she's of no use to you."

Marty rolls his eyes. "And what have you got that's more 'of use to me'?"

_Poor Marty,_  Billy thinks.  _Obviously, that chick was just as toxic for him as all that booze. Made his mind go fuzzy._

Billy clears his throat. Then, in one swift motion, he rolls his hips into Marty's so that they're skin to skin and their legs are tangled and they both feel  _everything_.

Marty's exhausted, and yet his breath still hitches. He looks down at their joined bodies, then looks back up into the smirking face of Billy Bickle.

"I'm telling you," Billy says, pointedly grinding against Marty, "that cunt ain't got what I'm packin'."

As Marty lets out a moan of interest, Billy thinks,  _Looks like it's time for the next event._


	4. In Which Billy Has Had Enough

Of course Marty would choose that Friday, their date night, to go on a bender. And of course he would insist that he was fine to go out, and fine to eat, despite having been slurring his words and being visibly shaky on his feet. But Billy decided to buckle him into his car and drag him to the little Italian place a few blocks over anyways, because when it came to Marty, Billy had always been selfish.

But when, unbeknownst to Marty, a lip-gloss tube was jostled from Marty’s jacket pocket as he staggered into his seat at their table, Billy remembered that Marty could be incredibly selfish as well.

Billy waited until the meal was nearly finished (and Marty had sobered up a little) before he sighed and asked, “When are you gonna leave her, Marty?”

From his position hunched over his plate, Marty glanced up briefly, and then looked back down at the table. He shrugged. “Leave who?” he asked, his voice dull. His head was a little clearer, but he wasn’t going to come right out and say it. Let Billy open up that can of worms. Let him fucking start something else like he always does.

Billy opened his mouth, but paused with his jaw hanging as he reconsidered his word choice. He tried to think of something more sensitive and compassionate to say.

And then he mentally said _‘fuck it’_ because he’s been playing Dr. Phil to Marty for as long as he can remember and _fuck_ if Billy isn’t a bit worn out.

Billy stared at Marty’s bowed head and said, “That bitch.”

Marty’s hand tightened around his wineglass. He was sick of hearing that. He was sick of hearing her being called those ugly names. He was tempted to look up, but he wouldn’t allow himself to be swayed; he wouldn’t give Billy the satisfaction.

“What bitch?” he asked. _Fuck you._

“ _Kaya_.” _Fuck you, too._

Well, that did it. Marty lifted his head a little sluggishly and looked at Billy. Or rather, he looked in Billy’s direction. Certainly not in the eyes. “Who,” Marty said dangerously. “My girlfriend?” Because she was. She was his _girlfriend,_ he thought about her a lot, and he _cared_ about her.

Billy’s expression darkened. His face became all downward facing hard lines, and while the romantic in him would’ve liked to be able to say that his heart broke, that he was devastated and depressed and reduced to tears by this news...all he truly felt was a tiny twinge of sadness encased by this giant black rock of jealously and anger and utter frustration.

He stood up and stepped out of his seat while Marty’s eyes followed as far as they could without his having to crane his neck.

“No,” Billy said lowly, clutching the stem of his own full wineglass, “the other woman.”

And Marty knew what was next, but that didn’t stop him from sputtering, embarrassed and ashamed, when the wine hit him full in the face.

Slamming the glass back down on a random empty table as he walked away, Billy said over his shoulder, loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear, “You can come back home when you stop being such a fucking idiot.”


End file.
